


Golden

by ohhliv



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Eventual Romance, Gay, Gay Male Character, M/M, Mages, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Mythology, Romance, Slow Burn, Sorcerers, Teaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhliv/pseuds/ohhliv
Summary: Kha'el, losing all memory to his previous life. Finds himself in the ownership of a non-human mage, Efrain. Curious about the world of magic Kha'el becomes an apprentice under Efrain but, finds himself teaching Efrain more than he realizes..A too deep voice rumbled around him. The unnatural sound shaking Kha'el to his core as the formless shadow grew, and grew. Taking an anthropomorphic form too large for any human to be. The mass reached out one shadowed arm, cupping his cheek. The red eyes tilted along with the shadowy head.“What does it mean to love?”





	1. Chapter 1

Wrists bound by leaden chains, cold, unwavering, burdensome weight dragging further and further into an unknown future.

"Starting bid is five-hundred thousand pounds."

'A voice?'

"Six hundred."

"Six-fifty."

"Eight hundred."

"Damn him."

The voices began to arise around him like foxes popping from their winter holes in spring. 'Where am I? Why can't I see?'

'I want to see.'

He reaches up to his face, a silk cloth tied tightly around his eyes. 'Oh.' The sudden tug on his chains causes him to cry out. 

'Why?'

"One million."

'Is that my worth?'

"Two million."

'Why?'

"You're cutting it close."

"2.5 million."

'Why?'

"He's mine."

"Three million."

Tears ran down his cheeks, staining the blindfold. Grinding his teeth as he strained against his bondage. 'Tell me. Why?'

"Eight million."

"Shit."

Murmurs chittered around the crowd below him and then a thick, heavy silence followed too suddenly to be an omen of good. The sound of wooden soles thumped their way like a low toll of death. They stopped. He felt the presence of someone, no, something in front of him. He looked up eyes searching but, barred from seeing.

"Seems as though no one dares to bid against eight million," a heavy gavel slams onto a wooden podium, "Sold, to Mr.Wolfe."

'Sold...?'

.

.

.

He felt himself being walked off the stage and into a small room, around him conversations about transferring funds went on around him. Though nothing caught his attention as he attempted to find his surroundings blindly. He felt the being that had 'bought' him walking behind the group, his eyes, though not seen, were felt as they bored into his soul, continuing during the seemingly never-ending trek in the halls.

A door opens, the smell of citrus and linen opening his lungs as he was set into a wooden chair. Hands behind him worked at untying the knot that held the blindfold. The silk fell, wet tear stains still held at the bottom of the dark blue fabric. He looks up from the item as it falls into his lap. A man and a woman stayed by the door, their eyes covered by glasses, standing stiffly in their matching black suits. Another man with cropped blond hair smiled politely as he sat in front of him. Next to the blond was another man, his hair holding soft black curls that touched his ears, and hazel eyes, that shimmered with flecks of gold as the sun, beaming behind him, hit his eyes. Though there was no empathy occupying his irises.

"So," The blond started off with a too-happy tone, his chipper Irish accent lilting along, "it's a great day for you boy, you've been sold on your first week."

'First week?' he thought to himself.

"And to Mr.Wolfe 'imself. A surprisin' fact sin' he hadn't gone out of that hole of a home he owns in o'er ten years."

The dark haired man shot him a look, ignored by the blond as he continued smiling.

"You are a special one though, I can see why he has," his eyes darkened, "I do warn ya though, I haven't seen a human live through the first month after bein' bought." They brightened again, "But, he's a mage so it should be okay. The name's Morren by the way."

Morren looked at Mr.Wolfe, "You get to name 'im, Efrain." Morren stood up and made his way toward the door, waved at the boy and walked out with the two guards.

'Name me? What was my name?'

'I can't remember.'

Efrain looked back at him, his mouth drawn in a straight line as his eyes went over the boy. He squirmed, uncomfortable by the unwanted attention.

"Kha'el."

"Kha'el?", he repeated back, the name felt familiar, even though he had never heard the name before.

"It means Golden in my tongue."

Kha'el nodded and mouthed the name again as he sat back.

"What happens now?"

Efrain huffed a laugh as the room glowed a deep red, shimmered and then whirled around the both of them as they sat seated at the wooden table separating them. There was a moment of weightlessness, then silence, and then a crack of energy as they landed in a grassy field. Wildflowers shifted and danced around them in the breeze. Kha'el looked around him, his chains suddenly gone, and the table set lost as he now sat on the soft ground. His hands felt the grass, and a bubble of laughter erupted from his chest. 'When was the last time I've seen nature?'

Efrain cleared his throat as he looked down at the young boy and held out one large hand. Except now instead of the tawny-skinned, dark-haired man he saw before. An extremely tall, well dressed, hybrid stood over him. From the torso down a well-built man stood in a black and white finery consisting of an oxford shirt, black vest, and slacks, topped by a long black coat. However, that was the end of the humanness this being held. The head was that of which children would scream and run into their parents' room after a nightmare. A skull of a jackal, the eyes replaced by small moving red orbs in the sockets and large ram's horns curled out from the top.

"E-Efrain?"

He laughed, his vocals much lower than before as he took on a weighty baritone, "In this form, they call me Dantalion."

"Dantalion?"

The skull nodded.

"It's much easier for me to keep my natural form than a human facade."

Kha'el nodded and took his offered hand.

"Are you not scared?"

"Should I?" Kha'el's head fell back as he stared at Dantalion.

Dantalion let go of the boy and looked in the direction of a fairly large cottage,

"I do not know." 


	2. Chapter 2

The World spun, soft flakes of dust danced in the air like grey minuscule clouds as they passed through the rays of dawning yellow sunrise. He blew a stream of air through his nose. Watching as he disturbed the microcosmic worlds of dust. ‘ What if worlds did lie on specks of dust?’ Kha’el rolled to face the window. The dry air sharpening the scent of the old wood that lined the windowsill. Outside, the physical and not-so world was waking, shaking off its cold sleep-- quite literally. 

 

White Stags the size of an automobile stalked the dewed pastures that sprawled out in front of the cottage. The largest male at the head of the pack, his horns climbing tall in a branching forest of ivory bone atop his head like an impossible crown. Lead his followers to their daily grazing. Matched with other creatures who made their ways out of burrows, although recognizably a mammal in their niche to Kha’el there was a sense of unearthliness as they marched alongside insects too large for sanity. 

 

He turned on his back again as the sound of clinking china and the sizzle of fat in a pan drew him back to his present seeming reality. It had been a week, yet it was completely impossible to get used to anything, but the sense of new found freedom.

 

The rising frame of Efrain-- no this was Dantalion-- hunched over a newspaper and sipping slowly at a too small cup of coffee overwhelmed half of the small breakfast table that sat in the center of the kitchenette. As ethereally, matching china pots and platters hovered in the air as if by unseen servant hands. Passed silently in a line as one was dunked in an untheological christening, scrubbed, dried, and placed back in the proper cabinet one after the other. 

 

Kha’el sat down, the same clinking rhythm meeting him again as it did each morning with the same sound of clattering plates and dishes in front of him. Food slowly floating from all directions met their destinations on the dishes. Ending with the final pour of some fruit juice freshly squeezed hours before. 

 

Dantalion raised his head in response to the crowding of new plates. Head cocked to the side his eyes stared at Kha’el as the small boy dug into his food voraciously. 

 

“It’s time.” The statement confused Kha’el, as he looked up, a large spoonful of grits hanging from the side of his lips. Dantalion used a gloved hand to wipe his face. Not as a mother or father would-- but in annoyance as the unsightly state would bother him later. 

 

“Time for what?” he questioned, his voice muffled as he swallowed the last bit of the grainy porridge.

 

“I want to train you. To become someone like me.”

 

Kha’el shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Efrain noticed, folded his paper to the side of him, snapped his thumb against his index and the plates cleared to the side. The half-eaten breakfast dispensed of and the spoon, still in Kha’el’s mouth comically forced from it. Kha’el groaned in resentment and sat back in his chair, drinking what was left of his juice as quickly as possible-- before that too would disappear. 

 

Two large bony elbows thudded against the wooden table, as Dantalion rested his skull against his clasped hands, “I want you to become my apprentice in Magecraft.” 

 

“Magecraft?”

 

Dantalion nodded, “These things,” he points to the invisible workers continuing to clean the rest of Kha’el’s dishes. “Those are house spirits who have been bound to my will. I give them a home to haunt and they keep everything in order even when I am away.” 

 

His eyes lock onto an area just above Kha’el’s ear, out the window behind him-- his hair now overgrown tendrils from the two weeks it has been away from human society--, “Those creatures you see every morning, the Elcharin, they are of the fae. Tricky, magical creatures you will need to learn how to guard your mind against them.”

The red globules that resided in the jackal skull shifted back to Kha’el, “That is what I mean by training. I want you to learn everything it means to be in my world. Everything it means to have your mind open to the world of magick and the power that you can feed and control. You can be anything and everything.” 

 

Dantalion stood up, the worn knobs of the chair screeching, scuffing harshly against the floor. His large hand enveloped Kha’el’s, practically dragging him through the door. For once the beast-like man seemed to show more emotion than just indifference-- excited almost. 

 

The day was warm, a breeze shook his clothes slightly as they stepped out onto the plains. Dantalion stopped and faced Kha’el before picking him up like a child. Then as sudden as it was the first time, he felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, except the slight smell of smoke and tinder. His feet touched firm ground and opened his eyes. No longer were they surrounded by tall grass and low rolling hills. But tall, tall, climbing trees, with dark, rich green canopies that swayed to their own ballet. Around them chirped birds, in which the small animals and insects chittered low in their own substrate floor secrets. 

 

Dantalion stalked over to a thick, stumpy tree, propped against a large boulder and called Kha’el over to him. 

 

“Touch it.”

 

“What?” 

“Do as I say, Kha’el.”

 

He shrugged and placed one tan open-palmed hand on the rough bark.

.

.

.

Dantalion stood back and observed Kha’el as he placed his hand on the tree. Waiting-- waiting for the reaction that he paid that humanly large sum for. Instead, all he got was his prize falling. Eyes rolling back as the dark pupils turned into open, blank, dead, whiteness. He shook, every muscle in his frail human body spasmed in reaction. ‘Reaction to what?’

 

“Kha’el.” He held the boy in his arms, shifting back into his human form of Efrain.

 

“Kha’el!” His voice rose in slight panic.

 

Why did he feel these, mundane emotions? Foreign to him was worry and fear, but now he understood them. This was what it feels like to care for someone other than yourself. He held the boy’s face as it drained in color. 

 

“Kha’el!” His throat tightened.

 

“Do not be alarmed, Dantalion.”  Leaves crunched behind him as the sound of hooves turned into footsteps. Efrain did not turn to the intruder as a shaking rage built up in him. 

 

“What do you want, Paoelus.” He seethed.


End file.
